


Preacher Man

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester doesn’t put much stock in religion. He puts a lot of stock in the local preacher, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preacher Man

Dean Winchester doesn’t put much stock in religion. You work a frontier town and you start to lose faith in higher powers real quick, and he’s no exception. It’s hard, is all. Hard to believe in a kind, merciful, _loving_ God when there are hangings to be done, and cattle thieves stealing the livelihood of other men, not to mention scavengers from wagon caravans headed further west. People with hollow eyes and hollow stomachs, who’d sooner shoot you than greet you. In the three years he’s been sheriff of Kripke’s Hollow, he’s seen four men killed in arguments that got a little too heated, seen a dozen women raped by strangers and husbands alike, and he’s seen children die. Three of them, two from disease and one gutted and strung up like a trout by a drifter with a sick sense of humor.

He figures that’s why he likes Father Castiel so much. The man understands that the world is a dark and horrible place, and he doesn’t try to sugarcoat it, not for Dean, not for anyone. He doesn’t try to offer bullshit explanations like ‘oh, well God moves in mysterious ways,’ he just rolls up his sleeves and helps dig the graves and tie the hangman’s noose.

Maybe that’s why they get so close. They both see the worst that humanity has to offer, Dean through his badge and Castiel through his confessions, and they both struggle every day not to let that wave of shit and misery drown them. That’s got to be it, he thinks. Got to be why they come together the way they do.

Castiel says it’s a sin, but that this far west, and this far from Rome, a sin is what a man makes it. He says that it’s all about intent. You don’t punish a man for stealing a loaf of bread if he’s doing it to keep his kids from starving, but things like senseless violence, murdering or fucking children, beating a woman...those are the things that are sins in God’s eyes, not two men enjoying each other’s company and hurting no one but themselves.

“You’re thinking awful hard,” Castiel murmurs, and Dean rolls onto his side to face him. His badge glints on the nightstand, the one he’d carved with his own two hands, and his hat is hung on the door. He’s not the sheriff in the safety and the privacy of his own bedroom. He’s just Dean.

“Thinking about you,” Dean lies, and Castiel smiles sadly at him.

“I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

“Yeah? How about this: I do honestly think that Castiel Novak has got to be the most unfuckable man I have ever laid eyes on. That set your lyin’ sense off, Father?”

Castiel huffs, his laughter muffled as he presses his face against Dean’s shoulder. Though he’s the one who told Dean that they aren’t sinners, he still gets embarrassed about the strangest things. Dean’s not sure how a priest can be shy, considering all the fucked up things they must hear in confession, but then, Castiel is different. Special. Dean can feel how his stubble rubs against his arm, a spike of roughness on an otherwise pure and blameless man, and it sets his cock to twitching faster than any bar whore he’s ever seen. As the sheriff, he’s supposed to be above such things, but Dean’s never been very good at denying himself. Not when sex with Castiel is the one bright spot in his otherwise awful life. He rolls himself onto his side, swinging a leg over Castiel’s waist, a brief rub to let him know he’s interested. They’ve already gone at it once before, but Castiel’s got a lot of stamina; Dean attributes it to being a priest, and Castiel says it’s God’s gift. He supposes they won’t know the truth of it for a few months yet.

“You are a terrible person,” Castiel says, but he’s laughing and winding his arms around Dean’s torso, holding him still as they rock together. Nothing fancy, no oils or candles...just good, old-fashioned rutting. Castiel clutches at him like a drowning man, gasping when Dean works a hand down behind him to knead his ass. That’s the one thing that he hasn’t said ‘yes’ to yet. As far as Dean can tell, Castiel has no problem with sodomy in general, he just doesn’t like the idea for himself. Maybe he thinks it’s painful, or maybe it just seems too strange to him. Either way, Dean’s happy to oblige him in other ways, happy to slick up his own thighs or Castiel’s thighs so that they can experience some shadow of what it’s like. He’s even happier to fuck like this, with nothing between them but their skin and sweat.

“Yeah,” he says, and Castiel makes a soft, almost animal noise of pleasure as his dick slides along the crease of Dean’s thigh. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’s it, you’re gorgeous. You gonna sin for me, sweetheart? Gonna sin like the devil hisself.”

Castiel likes it when Dean talks to him, especially likes it when Dean talks about sin and extravagance. He hiccoughs and shoves himself against Dean’s leg for a few more seconds, and then freezes as he comes, eyes rolled back and his mouth slightly open. Dean takes the opportunity to kiss the hell out of him, so to speak, to lick at his mouth until Castiel comes back down from whatever high place he was communing with, all flushed cheeks and sweaty, dark hair, and blue, blue eyes.

“Look at you,” Dean mutters, and Castiel, swallowing, stares steadily back at him. “You made a mess, didn’t you, Father?” Castiel is silent, and Dean, grinning, adds, “Gonna help me clean up?”

Castiel glances down at Dean’s cock, still hard, flushed dark, and bites his lip before smiling softly. A just to himself smile. Then, peering at Dean from beneath his lashes, he slides himself down the length of Dean’s body.

“ _Amen_ ,” Dean says, and winds his fingers in the bedsheets, relishing Castiel’s quiet laugh.


End file.
